


Rage And Ruin

by ClementineStarling



Series: Looks Like We're In For Nasty Weather [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Purgatory, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny wants! needs! Dean...<br/>Looks like he gets what he desires.<br/>Gratuitous porn.</p><p>Technically the second chapter of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1161554">Run To The Hills</a>, but the tone of this fic turned out to so differently that I decided to post it as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rage And Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Because SPN is so utterly disappointing these days, and I have to remind myself of better times, and Benny for sure was one of the last silver linings in the bleak, uninspired wasteland that the series has become.  
> This, again, goes out to **saiphor** , Dean-girl of years and merits, who is sadly missed in kinky town. I raise my purple nurple to you! May our paths cross again rather sooner than later. 
> 
> Title taken from Creedence Clearwater Revival's [Bad Moon Rising](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4YlTUDnsWMo)

The gloom drags on, sluggishly like a bayou in summer heat. The forest is thicker here, dense and recusant. They have to butcher their way through the undergrowth. Their blades are cutting through the branches that clutch at their clothes. Their progress is slow. The ground sucks at the soles of their boots. This world is greedy, this world wants to devour. A mirror of himself, Benny thinks as he follows Dean’s lead towards safety. Thorns claw at his skin, leaving angry red traces, but the pain is blunt and distant, so unlike the sharp tug in his loins, the keen eagerness that drives him forwards.

The growl sits close to the surface. It takes every ounce of control not to reach out, grab a handful of hair and slam Dean against one of the trees that litter the landscape like withered corpses. But patience may be the very last of his virtues, a predator’s trait.

When he was little, Benny’s grandma told him of Jean Lafitte, the famous pirate. Same name, same blood, she said with a certainty of relations she borrowed from the magic of those once abducted and enslaved. How could he not have believed her? And what else could he have become but a treasure hunter himself? That’s how he has found Dean, the most precious soul in this pit, a human amongst nightmares. And like all good treasures, Dean invokes something inside him that borders on insanity. It is the lure of the flesh, near biblical temptation.

Benny remembers the priest of their congregation, a gaunt, driven man preaching about sin and damnation; the memory is nearly as vivid as the one of his grandma. The brain is a strange thing, Benny thinks and wonders if being a Catholic might have made him a better vampire. Has he not, after all, become the incarnation of those sins? It’s not a serious deliberation, more of a fleeting notion, but for the time being he is thankful for even the absurdest of thoughts - as long as it serves as a distraction. Anything, so he won’t have to watch too closely how Dean makes his way through the thicket. How his weight shifts and his face twists and the fingers grip around the hilt of his blade.

He is ruthless, a killer. That’s exactly why Benny wants him, like he wants to feed and to breathe and to feel the soft caress of the wind on his naked skin. Perhaps more. The need is a violent rage in his chest. Arousal like the lust for blood, the itch in his fangs, a disease streaming through his body, gnawing at brittle nerves and pulling at his senses. Benny gasps for breath, the wet air rough in his throat, fireburn in his lungs. They have not even been running, they move like water, but his muscles ache, every fibre in those rope-thick strands twining over bone. His whole body strains towards Dean.

They must have walked for hours before Dean stops, obviously satisfied with the spot. Benny watches his hands stroking the leaves of bushes, bending twigs as if the monsters were hiding behind them. Then Dean gives him the same curt nod of all-clear like always. Only this is not every-day, this is their _run to the hills_ , their moment of revelation.

Benny is not sure what to do. He does not trust himself, not now that the simmering desire has turned into a sharp-edged, jagged thing in his belly that’s too much like fangs and claws to be entirely welcome. But Dean relieves him of the choice. His weight crashes into the vampire without warning and Benny finds himself trapped against the rough bark of a tree, Dean pressing into him, breathing heavy and ragged. It’s a scene Benny has witnessed countless times, the fuming wrath of Dean Winchester at the capture of his victim, the spark of cruelty in his green eyes. Benny loves to see the predator pushing against the thin shell of human skin, clearly visible to the kindred eye. Arousal and anger are now one and the same, and if anything could make Benny any harder, this would be it.

Come on, he says in his Southern drawl, equally tease and challenge, and then Dean’s hand is in his short hair, trying to find purchase, the nails as vicious as are the lips on his mouth. The kiss is more of a struggle, but Benny already knows how this will end. Dean will only defy him as long as he won’t take control, it’s part of their game. He has not forgotten how Dean has gone all slack and obedient under his grasp.

Benny lets himself be kissed and groped and explored for a while before he detangles Dean’s hand from his hair, seizes him by the shirt and shoves him backwards.

His voice is a snarl when he speaks. Strip, he says, and Dean does, slipping into his role with the ease of experience, taking his sweet time, but the thrill of anticipation is worth every second he needs to remove a garment and to fold it up, carefully placing it at his side. It’s the habit of a soldier, the meticulous and unquestioning routine of someone who is used to having his stuff at the ready should need arise.

The bare skin is strung tight and freckled, pale in places that are untouched by grime and sunlight. Purgatory has sculpted him well, Benny thinks. Every human flaw has been erased from the body, all mortal weakness. But the beauty he seeks lies beyond the surface, it’s the temper that shines through the skin and every hard outline of muscle he wants to touch. He wants to see it flare and die out under his skilful fingers. He needs to possess this creature, own him, bind him to his will. 

The urge to simply take him is nearly overwhelming, but Benny holds himself back. The sight of Dean, eyes lowered, hands at his sides, the stir of arousal already distinct between his legs – it’s too good not to enjoy it properly. Submissive he is even lovelier than usual. Good boy, he is inclined to say with the approval of a proud master but he bites his tongue. Too early for that. So he settles for an appreciative gaze that’s still telling enough to make Dean shiver.

Benny shrugs off his battered jacket, then his fingers catch at the hem of his shirt. Dean steals a glance and swallows hard when Benny pulls the worn fabric up over his head, revealing his ripped torso. Benny closely observes Dean’s reaction as he reaches for the buckle of his belt next and the quick, nervous bite of his lower lip does not escape him. It’s an unconscious move that makes the need throb and pulse in Benny’s pants. God, how he loves to be desired by this beautiful being.

He is already rock-hard when he bares himself to Dean’s eyes, thick and large, and this time Dean is actually licking his lips before he looks away, bashful as if ashamed of his wantonness. Yet his own cock swells and bobs and Benny wants nothing more than to close his fingers around it and jerk the pretty boy until his knees buckle and he comes apart under his touch. But first he has a task to fulfil, he cannot be granted his reward without it. These are the rules.

Benny beckons him forwards and demands that he kneels and Dean does, oh so willingly. Proud, spiteful Dean Winchester about to suck a vampire’s dick, it does not get any better than that, Benny thinks as he drags his cock over Dean’s lips, painting them in precum and they open so eagerly, swallow him up into wet heat. No cunt could be sweeter than this boy’s mouth.

His hands bury themselves in Dean’s hair, digging into the scalp, but he allows the human to set the rhythm and decide how much of the cock he’ll take. Benny is confident in the boy’s skills, obviously he’s done this before. The rub of his lips and the swirl of his tongue are delicious, and the lust is building in Benny’s belly, sparkling with tension like a gathering thunderstorm.

He is tempted to let it go on, to have Dean suck him until he spills his seed into that willing mouth and he _will_ have him like this, once, the next time and then after that, but not now. Now he has to set an example and control is his duty where Dean’s is obedience.

Benny tightens the grip in Dean’s hair and pulls him away, ignoring the sounds of protest. You’re such a lewd little slut, he wants to say but he keeps his mouth shut. There will be room for further experiments later, like there will be a time for accomplished blow jobs. Now he wants to properly appreciate his new toy. So he kneels down beside him and presses his lips to that dutiful mouth, tasting himself on Dean’s tongue.

For a while he contents himself with tracing the outlines of muscle with his fingertips, the places where the bones strain against skin, mapping the body and claiming it at the same time. He’s stopped the kissing and settled for sharing the air with Dean, his lips just out of reach, barely brushing over this hungry mouth that gasps and moans and pleads to be ravished. The sense of power is intoxicating.

At last his fingers run over the length of Dean’s cock, skin silky and taut, then wrap around it. The boy goes all rigid with the shock of pleasure, eyes wide, and Benny’s mouth curls into a smug, satisfied smile. Touch me, he says and Dean’s hands fly to the sturdy chest, bracing himself against Benny’s bulk, then one palm glides deeper, over the hard, flat stomach until the fingers find their goal. A groan wrenches itself from Benny’s throat when Dean’s hand closes around his cock, mirroring his own grasp on the boy.

They are leaning into each other, breathing hard, concentrating on the sensations unfurling in their bodies, heat drawing tight into tension that abuts on pain. Benny is moving first, the slide of his fist wicked on the tender flesh too rough to be entirely pleasant but judging from Dean’s reaction, it’s exactly what he has hoped for. Benny can hear it in the quickening of his pulse and feel it in the throb between his fingers.

So that’s how you like it pet, he purrs and Dean’s cock twitches under his touch and his own body responds just the same way. The sting of arousal in his gut is delightful, the pleasure sharp as fangs.

Only then does Benny realise that something else is stirring inside him, another, darker craving. His control is slipping with every drumbeat of Dean’s heart. Do you trust me, he whispers and Dean only nods, enthralled and blinded by his own lust, the shivers of passion like waves in his limbs.

Benny’s lips sweep over the tender skin of Dean’s neck like a faint breeze, the soft caress raising goose bumps in its wake. He waits for the boy to tense up, but instead he presents his throat in a perfect act of submission. Benny can’t help the growl that escapes his chest, a sound of approval and of dominance. His teeth are as sharp as blades, they break the skin easily, without more than a small twinge of discomfort. Then salt and copper on his tongue. Dean’s heart is like thunder in Benny’s ears and for a moment he has to put all of his effort into keeping himself from biting down properly, tearing through flesh and sinew to the very core of this being.

But then Dean’s fingers tighten around his cock, a keen reminder of what this is all about, and the sudden pull of pleasure yanks Benny right back to the proper side of madness.

Next time I’m gonna fuck you, he growls and Dean gasps at the promise, a ragged pant for breath, and then they kiss again, hard lips and spiteful tongue, while their hands squeeze and tug and evoke trembles and moans and finally curses. Tangled, body and soul, they move towards completion. Their pleasure is the edge of a razor, too sharp to feel how it cuts. The freefall of climax comes suddenly, taking them by surprise. For the blink of an eye the tension is unbearable, the curl and twist of orgasm like needles and barbed-wire, then the release washes over them with the sheer force of a wave, purging the lust from their flesh and bone.

Afterwards Benny feels cleansed and lucid, no matter the stickiness of shared seed and sweat and blood and mud on his skin. He wraps his arms around Dean and holds him tight, face buried in his hair, inhaling his scent and hiding the happiness of his smile. For the first time in a very, very long time he is at peace.


End file.
